


chaos & sin

by anathemis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Battle of Hogwarts Aftermath, Coping, Drabble, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, One Shot, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Short, The Golden Trio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:42:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26323591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anathemis/pseuds/anathemis
Summary: 'The Golden Trio didn't exactly come out of the Battle of Hogwartsunscathedanduntouched. No one did, really. PTSD, the healers said.'
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 65





	chaos & sin

The Golden Trio didn't exactly come out of the Battle of Hogwarts _unscathed_ and _untouched_. No one did, really. PTSD, the healers said.

The after effects didn't really come to the surface until a few months afterwards - or maybe, they just went unnoticed for too long, more important things to take care of. _None_ of them could bear loud noises; a cupboard door being shut too hard, the front door slamming when someone came in, the clank of something being dropped throughout the house. When it happened, they all froze for a second, eyes wide and face pale, mind instantly taken back to the battlefield, to the bright flashes of spells being thrown to and fro, to the screaming. Oh, the _screaming_.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were currently situated at Grimmauld Place. There was nowhere else to go, really, with the Burrow still being in pieces, Hogwarts still being rebuilt and Hermione's parents still somewhere away in Australia, completely unaware of the existence of their daughter. And anyway, they'd really rather stay _together_ , nightmares shared between three and comfort taken from each other.

Time passed slowly, crawling by far too slow. Ron's hands still shook, the aftermath of a few well-aimed bone breakers that never really fully healed. Harry and Hermione grasp a hand each when the tremors get especially bad, but Ron never wants to speak about it afterwards and they don't force him to. Hermione woke nearly every night, screaming, the words 'filthy mudblood' echoing in her ears, only quieting when the other two thirds of the trio reach out for her, holding her close until she comes back to them. Harry barely spoke, mind too overwhelmed with memories and spells and flashbacks. The latter wasn't uncommon for any of them, minutes or hours spent dissociated, staring at blank walls, the others bringing them back with whispered words and gentle touches.

Food is scarcely eaten, if ever. Too much time spent thinking about food on the run and not enough time to eat it. Now that they can, they simply _forget_. Even Hermione. A roster is introduced - they each cook a few times a week, trying their best to make up for lost time. And if they still forget, well, no one was there to keep track anyway.

Visitors coming and going. Weasleys, Kingsley, Hagrid, even McGonagall at one point. Tea was drank, words were spoken, but still, nothing _changed_. The newspaper came in the mail too, typically by some nondescript owl, but it wasn't read, just chucked into a corner onto an evergrowing pile of other papers. The outside world didn't even _touch_ them, fended off by the remaining Order members.

Sleep didn't come though. And if it did, it was in the form of nightmares and screams and broken sobs. Instead, they drank lots of tea and coffee and even hot chocolate, whispering words of reassurance to each other.

They didn't go to the funerals, not that there were any in the first place. _Too many_ , the Daily Prophet probably said. No doubt there was a large memorial at some point, but they didn't go to that either. No one asked them to, knowing it probably wasn't right to do so. No one asked anything of them anymore. They didn't know if that was good or bad, in the end.

Their bodies are still sore and broken, even months after everything passed. Aches and pains that would probably never leave, headaches that persisted for days on end, scars littering every limb. The physical ones would eventually fade, but those on their hearts and minds wouldn't.

Ron would get panic attacks sometimes, head clutched in his hands, hyperventilating to the point of passing out. Not much helped, in those moments, but they stuck together like glue, even if they all cried at the same time. Muggle medicines don't work on wizards. Harry's scar twinges every now and then and even though Voldemort is dead, it doesn't stop his heart from pounding _he's back, he's coming for us, he knows where we are and he's going to kill us_ and in those moments, Hermione and Ron remind him to _breathe_. Hermione doesn't put down her wand, ever. It's always on hand, just in case something happens. Just in case. They sleep with them under their pillows, too. Offensive and defensive spells repeat in their heads on a cycle, on the tips of their tongues. Can never be too careful. Constant vigilance.

Every now and then, Ron and Hermione come across Harry sat at a windowsill, some of Hedwig's feathers clutched in a fist, found at the bottom of her empty cage. They place a hand on each of his shoulders, no words spoken but the knowledge they aren't _alone_ being enough.

Ron forgets, sometimes, that his family was decimated by the war and wakes up thinking he's back at the Burrow, a bright grin on his face, Quidditch and fun on his mind. When he eventually remembers, his heart stutters and he collapses where he stands, wretched sobs ripping through his throat. On those days, Hermione and Harry find him, take him back to the bed. He curls up there, waiting for the day to end, guilt and grief tearing his heart apart.

Mostly, Hermione feels in control. Mostly. On those days that she doesn't, her thoughts are so _intrusive_ that she can't do anything but listen to them. There are no more knives kept in the house now, immediately banished when Ron stumbled upon her with the blade pressed against the word scarred onto her arm, muttering _mudblood_ to herself. He'd screamed the house down, snatching the large cooking knife from her hands and cupping her face in his hands. 'It's okay Hermione, it's okay. It's okay.'

Sometimes, days were so dark and tiring that they barely moved from the bed, stuck in past memories. They don't let each other get lost, though. Don't let them push each other away. Space is given, but not often needed. Other days are so overwhelming and terrifying that crying seems easier. Anger is felt too, but less than grief and more than happy.

They get by, though. They're alive, even if they don't always feel like it. PTSD, the healers said, running rampant these days, especially in those that participated in the war. It'll take time, they said. Time.

They were right, though. It does get easier with time. Hogwarts reopens are new students and old. The seventh years have a chance to retake their last year, but the Trio doesn't. Diagon Alley becomes safe once more and the world moves on. Keeps spinning and so on.

Nightmares are still frequent, but not every night. Food doesn't always taste ashen and sometimes they even feel good enough to go to Hogwarts for meals. Not often, but it's a start. Harry starts speaking again at some point and Hermione and Ron are so _happy_ that tears come to their eyes. They're careful to hide them from Harry, though. Coping mechanisms are created, not always entirely healthy but they don't take anything for granted anymore.

The future isn't certain by any means, but there was one thing that everyone could be certain about. In 1, 10 even 50 years from now, the trio would still be at Grimmauld Place, for better or for worse, but nevertheless _together_ , curled around each other in one of the beds upstairs or on the large sofa in front of the fireplace or sat around the kitchen table, unable to see where one started and the other's ended.

No, they didn't come out of the war completely whole. They were alive, though, and that was enough for now.


End file.
